‘I’m in your hell then?’ she mocks.
‘You are my hell, Libby. You always have been.’
Libby’s eyes narrow. ‘I’m not in any rush to have your babies either, Troy.’
I cough a couple of times, before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. ‘Don’t even joke! God, I just threw up in my mouth at the prospect.’
‘Screw you, Troy.’
‘Only if I was comatose and floating in a vat of penicillin,’ I shoot back.
We glare at each other, the loathing deep-seated and mutual.
Libby sighs, looking away first. ‘How about we work together to get out of here first and resume hating each other afterwards?’
I nod. My dislike of Libby is hardly the most important thing at the moment. ‘Suits me. So what d’you suggest, as I’m so useless? Come on. I’m all ears.’
‘We need to come up with some way of getting out of here.’
‘Duh!’
‘I just meant that, as the only way out is up those stairs and past our kidnappers, we need to be prepared the next time the door opens.’
I nod. ‘That makes sense.’
‘Glad you think so.’
‘What we need is a way to arm ourselves with some kind of weapon.’ But what?
The boxes are made of wilting, rotten cardboard so they’re no use. I check out the nearest crate. It’s solid wood, reinforced with thick metal strips along its sides. No way am I taking one of those apart with my bare hands. I push it to the closest wall, picking up speed as I approach. The thing smashes into the wall, then rebounds to crash into my legs. It hurts. A lot. Won’t be doing that twice. I try picking it up to slam it back down again. Maybe it’ll fall to pieces that way? Nope. All it does is scratch up my hands. So much for that then. I push the crate till it’s under the light bulb, a metre away from the foot of the wooden steps. At least it makes a solid chair. I need to think. Not panic. Think.
‘Budge up then.’ To my surprise, Libby sits next to me, her body warm against mine.
I move over so that we’re no longer touching. Glancing around, I wonder if it’s worth taking a second look in all the boxes and crates. Maybe we missed something. But it’s wishful thinking. Besides, no kidnapper with any brains would put us in a room with potential weapons or an escape route.
‘I’ve been thinking about why they drugged me and not you,’ says Libby.
‘I’m listening.’
‘I reckon they only meant to grab one of us. Before I passed out in the van, I heard one of them say that, as we were together, they had no choice but to take us both.’
I regard Libby. ‘Which one of us did they mean to take then?’
Libby shrugs. Her words circle and land heavily on my shoulders. If what she said is true, then that means one of us is expendable. Libby and I study each other as the truth sinks its claws into us.
‘Troy, I … I’m scared,’ Libby admits.
We sit in silence, alone together. Another look around the basement, with its clutching shadows and its intermittent skittering noises. The walls are breathing – in out, in out. The ceiling is slowly but inexorably coming down to crush me. I close my eyes.
Mind over matter.
You can do this, Troy. Breathe in. Breathe out. Think it and blink it all away.
I open my eyes. The walls have stopped breathing, the ceiling has stopped descending, but I’m still locked in the basement – with Libby. It’s only a matter of time before the walls start to heave again. If we’re not rescued soon, losing it will be a matter of when, not if. Libby moves closer. We’re almost touching. Almost but not quite. Silence reigns for too long. Despair, like icy hands, steals round my chest to hug me, squeezing and freezing by degrees, making it hard to catch my breath. It’s a struggle to think clearly, what with the sheer dread bubbling up inside. I force it down, knowing it’s in me now and won’t depart until I’m out of this basement. In fact, the longer I’m in here, the harder it will become not to freak out. I can’t do that, not in front of Libby of all people – but she’s already told me she’s frightened. Whether I like it or not, we’re in this together.
‘I’m scared too,’ I say quietly.
What the hell has happened to bring both of us to this dank basement and this predicament? If I can figure that out, then maybe, just maybe, I can think of a way to get us out of here.
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Kamal Hadley’s love child, Yaro Hadley-Baloyi, reveals all about the father who disowned him
Yaro Hadley-Baloyi has broken his silence regarding his politician father, Kamal Hadley, who died last year. It has recently come to light that Kamal Hadley, who served as Home Secretary of the Liberal Traditionalist party from 1998 to 2008, had a dual-heritage son whom he kept hidden from public gaze. Kamal Hadley, who often spoke out against miscegenation at the start of his career, is now being called ‘a raging hypocrite’ in some political circles. He famously disinherited his daughter, Persephone Hadley, when she became pregnant by Callum McGregor, a Nought who was later hanged for terrorist activities.
THEN
* * *
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The Democratic Alliance ahead in the polls for the first time
The Democratic Alliance party are ahead in the polls for the first time, with the general election only days away. Tobias Durbridge, Nought, 36, and Lydia Scruggs-Morsanya, Cross, 47, are currently neck and neck in the polls to become both leader of the DA and Prime Minister should the DA win the election.
Opinion
The Daily Shouter believes that our country is not yet ready for a Nought Prime Minister. It must surely happen one day, but Tobias Durbridge is not ready for the role. For one, he is far too unseasoned. Though popular with younger voters, the Daily Shouter questions whether his words and demeanour carry enough gravitas to be taken seriously. The Prime Minister should be a statesman, someone who will be respected by our country’s friends and enemies alike. Though he has been a Member of Parliament for a number of years, as well as a former Mayor of Meadowview, that hardly qualifies him to run the country. His degree was completed part-time and his family is totally unsuitable. The Daily Shouter has learned that his sister, Jessica, used to have a drug problem. In only a few days, our country will have to make a decision on not just which party but which leader shall govern us. The Daily Shouter says that, if you must vote for the DA, then Lydia Scruggs-Morsanya is the only right and logical choice for leader.
three. Libby
* * *
‘Libby, you can’t just assume you’ll get the votes of everyone who isn’t a Cross,’ says Raffy. ‘That’s not how it works.’
I scowl at Raffaella, or Raffy as she prefers to be known. She’s a Nought, the shortest girl in our year and one of the smartest. And, unlike most people I’ve met, she doesn’t just speak to hear herself. She only opens her mouth when she’s got something to say – and it’s usually worth listening to. Except for now. What’s my friend talking about? The others running against me in the forthcoming school election are no competition at all – that’s why I’d get most of the votes. Besides, ‘Why on earth would the Noughts in this school vote for anyone else?’